


AN ICE CHRISTMAS

by newbie93



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, The FitzSimmons Network, and then segued into pure fluff, as tends to be the case, cardb0rdeaux, what started off as crack somehow turned to slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9104941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbie93/pseuds/newbie93
Summary: In retrospect, she really should have known that Fitz, having spent over a decade in a secret organization, may not react to her surprise quite as well as anticipated.(or the one where Simmons tries to seduce Fitz on their first Christmas in their new apartment and winds up finding out the hard way just what happens when you try to surprise a sleeping spy)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the always incred cardb0rdeax for the FitzSimmons Secret Santa exchange put on by the equally swell FitzSimmons Network. The prompt was, “One partner in the OTP tries to dress up as Santa and sneak into the house in the middle of the night with presents, but ends up getting mistaken for an actual home intruder… super fluffy... yes please to smut." Hopefully I did Jessie's Grade A prompt justice!!
> 
> (PS. To those who prefer not to read M-rated lovin' much of this thing is still safe for your eyes. There's a pretty clear indicator of when things are about to heat up so you can stop reading there and then pick up after the break indicated by the -O- symbol!)

In retrospect, she really should have known that Fitz, having spent over a decade in a secret organization, may not react to her surprise quite as well as anticipated.

A rather silly mistake on her part considering her claimed excellence in preparation.

Though, despite the  _ minor  _ bit of negligence, the fact that the…  _ incident… _ happened at all only confirms that she’d been entirely successful in her sneakery because, in her efforts to ensure that Fitz would have  _ no  _ idea how she intended to spend their first Christmas Eve in their new home, Jemma had truly gone above and beyond with her subterfuge.

The plan had begun percolating the moment she crashed into him after his return from his brush with Zero Matter, and had only continued to expand once they’d eagerly begun picking paint and furniture for their newly acquired apartment. 

In the days leading up to Christmas, Jemma had perfected each of her microexpressions, successfully lying to Fitz in order to slip away from work long enough to make a few necessary purchases. She’d continued her streak of blackmailing Mace (throwing in a dash of guilt-tripping for his unintentional involvement in the debacle at Momentum) to ensure that S.H.I.E.L.D. would lose her and Fitz’s contact information on the 24th and 25th of December. 

She’d even gone so far as to give Daisy (the only one on base who still has no problem ignoring anything and everything from the Director)  _ just  _ enough details to make certain that said contact information would  _ stay  _ lost, no matter what international crisis might arise in the 48 hours she’d carefully carved for herself and Fitz.

And on the night of nights, she’d prepared a scrumptious Christmas Eve dinner coupled with a mouth-watering pair of chocolate lava cakes, organized a lovely Skype call with their respective families, set-up a viewing of their mutually beloved  _ The Year Without a Santa Claus,  _ and successfully ignored Fitz’s unsubtle hints at ending their evening by divesting one another of their matching ugly sweaters.

She’d stayed strong, miraculously managing not to succumb to Fitz’s smoldering gaze and instead giving him a few warm kisses before clothing herself in the least flattering nightwear she could find, climbing into bed, and motioning for him to curl up with her to  _ sleep _ .

Everything had been executed  _ perfectly, _ yet, despite all of her careful planning, Jemma somehow forgot to take into account the fact that her boyfriend tends to react first and process later when confronted with surprises.

Which is why she’s now laying uncomfortably in bed with an ice pack pressed to her chest.

She gingerly lifts it to see that a bruise is already beginning to form and sighs at the sight. Though  _ certainly  _ not the worst injury she’s had in her life, the patch of purple skin will likely put a damper on the rest of the holidays if Fitz’s earlier hangdog expression is anything to go by.

She can hear him bustling about in the kitchen now, no doubt preparing all of her favorites to pair with the bottle of paracetamol that had all but been thrust in her face when she’d woken up a few minutes ago.

It had been a bit disorienting to awaken snugly cocooned in their bed to the sight of Fitz’s red-rimmed eyes but it didn’t take too long for Jemma to put the pieces together once she’d gained some clarity. She’d groaned in embarrassment as she realized what had likely happened, but the sound had been misinterpreted by Fitz to be one of pain and he’d promptly forced her to take the paracetamol while simultaneously pulling an ice pack from thin air and pressing it against her.

She’d barely managed to sit up against the headboard before Fitz was worriedly tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, eyes flitting across her face in search of something only he seemed to be aware existed. After silently confirming that she was, for the most part, absolutely  _ fine,  _ Fitz had pressed a quick kiss to her head before moving towards their bedroom door and mentioning something about making tea.

That had been nearly ten minutes ago and, at this point, Jemma is fairly positive that Fitz is more concerned with collecting himself than ensuring they both have some Sleepytime before bed. She casts a glance at the clock on her bedside table and lets out a frustrated groan at the neon  _ 3:12 _ that is blinking back at her, taunting her with the fact that she’s spent the past three hours out cold rather than making use of the little red number that she’s currently wearing.

She squeezes her eyes in an attempt to clear the residual fog that is hovering over her and piece together the last moments before she’d woken up in bed. 

She remembers sneaking  _ out  _ of bed, just after the clock struck midnight, and quietly padding her way to the hallway closet to pull out the lingerie that she had managed to purchase and store without Fitz’s knowledge. From there she’d quickly rid herself of the oversized pajama set she’d gone to bed in and miraculously managed to finagle her way into the rather scandalous piece she’d bought with the sole purpose of short-circuiting Fitz’s brain.

The lingerie was more complicated than  _ any  _ of the inventions she and Fitz had created over the years, put together by carefully placed bows and ties, but was exactly the thing to successfully take his ( _ and  _ her own) mind off of the utter chaos in their lives.

After carefully rolling up the accompanying stockings and artfully perching the  _ NAUGHTY _ emblazoned santa hat she’d managed to acquire from a holiday gag shop atop her head, Jemma had given herself a once-over in the hallway mirror and deemed the get-up entirely satisfactory in making her look like a Christmas parcel waiting for Fitz to unwrap.

From there of course, everything had gone straight to hell.

The plan, so carefully and connivingly created, called for a rather elaborate winter-wonderland setting that Jemma had  _ thought  _ she’d be able to put together in a moment’s notice with the help of the experimental portable holo-projector that had become a bit of a pet project for herself and Fitz during their fleeting moments of downtime in the lab.

Unfortunately, said device had been a bit more temperamental than Jemma had anticipated, going haywire the moment she’d powered it up and simultaneously emitting an array of blinding scenery and a deafening cacophony of noises.

So disoriented by the visual and auditory onslaught, and far too preoccupied with trying to figure out how to put an  _ end  _ to it to notice much of anything else, Jemma had neither seen nor heard her panicked boyfriend fly into their living room until it was too late.

Reflecting back on it now, Jemma lets out  _ another  _ groan at how spectacularly wrong her attempt at seduction had gone. She’s not sure she’s heard anyone  _ else  _ try to seduce their partner only to end up being s…

The sound of quick footsteps breaks her from her thoughts and Jemma immediately straightens on the bed, eyes focusing on the door as she counts down in her head and awaits Fitz’s re-entry.

Sure enough, not ten seconds later, Fitz is making his way into the bedroom, two mugs of tea in his hands and a worried expression on his face. In an instant he's sitting on the mattress, carelessly putting the mugs atop the bedside table before turning towards her in concern and scanning her face for signs of discomfort.

“Jem? Are… are you alright?”

He scoots closer towards her and she's about to roll her eyes at the unnecessary hovering but finds herself immediately subdued by the tenderness with which Fitz lifts the ice pack on her chest to examine her minor injury. 

It's hard for her to believe that his open expression and displays of love were ever unnoticed by her, so clear now that they've been vocalized, and she’s suddenly flooded with warmth despite the lingering coolness of the ice.

So, rather than bat his hand away in exasperation, Jemma gives Fitz a fond smile that she  _ hopes  _ conveys how utterly thankful she is for his presence.

“I’m fine Fitz, just feeling rather silly is all.”

She means it in a self-deprecating way, particularly because (aside from the debacle with the Faraday Cup) waking up in a scandalous teddy after being mistaken for a home intruder by her own boyfriend might honestly be the most embarrassing thing that's happened to her, but Fitz drops his head the moment the words leave her mouth and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

He’s sitting beside her on the bed, head hanging low and hands laying in his lap, and Jemma knows with certainty that her intended plans for the evening will be taking an indefinite detour. His bad hand is shaking more than she can remember seeing in quite some time and she feels a pang in her chest at the realization that  _ she’s  _ the cause of it. She sometimes believes that she knows Fitz better than herself, meaning it's not hard for her to realize that her boyfriend’s proclivity for feeling guilty about  _ anything _ means that tonight has likely been immensely stressful for him.

She reaches a hand out, pulling his into her lap and methodically massaging it in silence until the tremors lessen and the worry lines on his face become  _ marginally _ less pronounced.

While they've certainly had their fair share of communication issues over the years, Jemma has always taken comfort in the moments where they are so in sync that nothing needs to be said at all. All it takes now is a bit of eye contact, the exchange of soft smiles, and a subtle jerk of the head for Fitz to clamber up beside her and pull her to his chest.

She doesn't care in the slightest that the movement makes her chest throb, far too concerned with burrowing as close to Fitz as possible and listening to the steady thud of his heart beneath her ear. She lets her eyes flutter closed, revelling in the blissfulness that engulfs her as Fitz’s fingers card through her hair. She nuzzles against his neck, idly drawing shapes against his chest with her finger, and thinks that perhaps the shift in the evening’s plans isn’t quite as awful as she’d initially believed.

After all, any night that ends with her tucked against Fitz in their bed is a good one, no matter what events had or had  _ not  _ occurred prior.

“I really  _ am  _ sorry.”

Fitz’s soft voice pulls her from her thoughts and she can’t help but release a small sigh at the lingering guilt in his tone. She watches with interest as the puff of air against his neck causes goosebumps to appear, before shifting her head slightly to get a better look at him. His eyes are already focused on her and she grazes a finger along his jaw, nail catching against the stubble. She leans forward to press a soft kiss to his lips before replacing her head back on his chest and closing her eyes.

“It’s fine Fitz. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Jemma can’t help but let out out a small snort of laughter at that, because she actually  _ does  _ know what she’d been thinking.

She’d been thinking that she hadn’t had more than a few scant minutes alone with Fitz in weeks, had heard  _ Santa Baby  _ enough times to know every fantasy-inducing lyric by heart, and was keen to finally have him  _ hurry down her chimney tonight. _

“Yeah but…”

She gives him a brief swat on the chest before Fitz can continue, too ready to put an end to this conversation, before pushing herself up with an arm and gazing down at him in an attempt to catch his focus.

“Seriously, I’m  _ fine _ Fitz. There shouldn’t be any lasting effects or damage. Everything’s alright.”

Her attempt at assuaging his guilt seems to fail because in the next instant, Fitz is bolting up, bumping her hand enough that she falls back against the bed, and staring at her in open-mouthed incredulity.

“Jemma I  _ shot  _ you!”

_ Well… _

When he says it like  _ that  _ it does make his hysterics a bit more justified, but Jemma can’t help but roll her eyes on principle. “Oh,  _ honestly  _ Fitz, don’t be so dramatic. It was an  _ ICER _ .”

He falls back down on the mattress, bouncing a bit against the spring, and crosses his arms over his chest as he gazes up at the ceiling. “Yeah but… what it if hadn’t been?”

He turns over to look at her and there’s a fierceness in his eyes that makes Jemma gulp as she realizes exactly where his mind has headed, her own immediately flitting to all of the moments where she’d thought she’d lost him forever. The reminder that  _ this,  _ this life together as best friends turned decidedly more, may not have ever existed sends an icy chill through her and Fitz seems to pick up on her hesitation, his face growing more determined as he continues. “What if it had been the  _ other  _ gun we stash in our room Jem? Huh? What if I’d grabbed that one instead and…”

The various scenarios she  _ knows  _ he is conjuring prompt Jemma to push herself up to lean over him as she grasps his face between her hands, hoping that the fire in her eyes can counter the looming ocean in Fitz’s.

“ _ Don’t _ . Don’t do that. There’s no point in thinking in what ifs Fitz.”

Too many times she had found herself imagining the horrors and near-misses, nine days in a S.H.I.E.L.D. medical room and months after 4,722 hours in hell, and she refuses to do it anymore. She knows that the nightmares that have plagued her since joining the field are only a small fraction of the endless  _ could have beens  _ and has made it her mission to avoid exploring any others when there’s no need to.

“It doesn’t matter that you  _ might  _ have grabbed something other than the ICER because you  _ didn’t.  _ Fitz we… we’ve dealt with  _ so  _ much,  _ beaten  _ so much and we’re going to  _ keep  _ doing it! You didn’t die at the bottom of the ocean, I wasn’t stranded forever on Maveth, and we  _ always  _ come back to each other because we’re  _ it  _ Fitz. You and me? We’re it.”

She’s breathless by the end of it and, if she’s being honest, a little misty-eyed as well. Though, the added sheen behind Fitz’s azure gaze makes her feel a bit less self-conscious about her sudden burst of emotion. She lets her eyes flicker across him, taking in every millimeter as she waits for him to respond, and feels a warmth bloom through her as a slow smile breaks out across his face.

“Oh we’re  _ it  _ huh? Says who?”

The eyebrow waggle that he couples with the question causes a burst of fond laughter to erupt from her mouth and she makes a show of looking upwards as she replies, “Oh, you know, the cosmos.”

The immediate groan that follows is exactly the reaction she’d been hoping for and Jemma grins at the wince that crosses her boyfriend’s face. Before he can launch into his well-practiced bemoaning, she leans forward and stops him with a firm kiss to the mouth that quickly transforms into a languid push and pull of lips. When she finally pulls away, the softness in Fitz’s expression causes an indescribable happiness to burst from her and she lets her thumb follow its familiar path across his cheek.

“And me.  _ I  _ say so.”

She leans forward and presses her lips against every inch of his face that she can reach, smile widening at each point of contact. She wants to memorize the expression on his face, the soft smile and sparkling eyes, and etch it into her bones so that the image of him so utterly happy never leaves her. Largely because she knows the same blissful contentedness is mirrored on her own face when Fitz tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and replies, “Well if  _ you  _ say we’re it… then it must be true.”

“Yes, well, those of us who graduate at the  _ top  _ of the class tend to be right about most things...”

Fitz’s eyeroll is immediate and paired with another groan. 

Jemma lets a smug grin break out when he begins muttering under his breath and, though she can’t quite make out what he’s saying, she’s certain enough in her guess that whatever it is warrants a tickle attack. Her fingers fly beneath his t-shirt, dancing across his abdomen and relentless in their search for all of the places she knows will prolong Fitz’s laughter.

"Okay,  _ okay _ ! You’ve made your point!”

He’s squirming beneath, rolling left and right in an attempt to escape her fingers, but she knows that it’s more for show than a genuine desire to put an end to the attack. Their laughter is intermingling, rising in crescendos as synchronous as their usual chatter, and it’s not until she finds  _ herself  _ in need of breath that Jemma finally collapses to Fitz’s side and pokes him once more on the stomach.

“Say it.”

He shifts, hovering over her and leaning down to place a chaste kiss to her lips before saying, “You’re the smartest person on this planet and every other planet in existence and from now on no… no more thinking in terms of what ifs.”

“Good.”

They’re silent for a beat, Fitz’s finger gently stroking the small bruise on her chest, before he looks up and asks, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Fitz!”

“I’m being serious! Are you literally and physically okay? You’re sure you’re not experiencing any lasting effects or pain?”

Jemma lets out another small huff and wonders how many Christmases down the line will involve a retelling of this story. “I swear on the new centrifuge in the lab that the only harm you did tonight was force me to take a nap instead of let me seduce you to the point where the  _ both  _ of us would black out for hours.”

“Wh...wha...umm, you wanted to seduce me?”

It’s silent for a few moments as she turns to him in astonishment and finds him gaping at her much like the  _ first  _ time she’d mentioned having sex with him. But that first reaction had at least been  _ somewhat  _ warranted.  _ Now  _ they’re nearly a year into this newest version of FitzSimmons, living in their own home, and  _ extremely  _ well _ - _ versed in the physical aspects of their relationship. Meaning her wearing of the skimpiest lingerie in existence, thigh-high stockings and a  _ naughty  _ santa hat  _ really  _ should have tipped Fitz off. “Surely you’re not being serious.”

He only blinks at her in confusion, giving her a look of such genuine obliviousness that she leaps out of bed and does a literal twirl before gesticulating wildly at the garment adorning her body.

“Fitz, of  _ course  _ I was planning on seducing you! Why on earth would I be wearing this unless I was planning on seducing you?!”

She thinks it’s a simple question with an obvious answer (being that she  _ wouldn’t _ ) but Fitz gets up as well, sticking his hands on his hips in his standard defensive pose, and raises his voice in explanation.

“I dunno! I thought you got overheated in that god-awful sweatsuit and wanted to change into something more comfortable! Not… not like the come hither kind of comfortable… I meant  _ literally  _ more comfortable.”

Her mouth drops in astonishment as she processes the fact that, had her plan  _ not  _ ended in her being shot with an ICER, her boyfriend likely wouldn’t have even realized what she was doing.

_ How a genius can be so dense… _

She raises her hands in exasperation before moving them over her teddy, tugging at one of the non-functional bows and looking down at the swaths of skin that remain uncovered. “Fitz,  _ what  _ about this looks comfortable to you? There are more knots than on a naval ship, more lace than should  _ ever  _ be forced upon someone, and the whole thing is, quite frankly, rather itchy.”

Even  _ saying  _ the word makes Jemma that much more aware of the way the lace is chaffing against her skin and she glances down at the offending garment as though glaring at it will miraculously make it feel like fleece.

“Well if it’s so uncomfortable… maybe… maybe it’d be best if you take it off.”

The huskiness in Fitz’s voice causes Jemma’s gaze to snap in his direction and notice for the first time that he’s been mostly silent since she’d clambered out of bed to point out all of the clear ways that she’d been attempting to weaken his knees. His eyes are roving over her now and the blatant desire on his face reminds Jemma why she’d bought this ensemble in the first place.

The purpose was to  _ tease  _ him and, since the original plan has already taken a rather dramatic detour, Jemma decides that the night’s teasing will now have to come in another form.

“I don’t know… I’m still a bit exhausted from the dentrotoxin…”

His face falls at that, eyes growing serious (if a bit dejected) as he nods his head in understanding and Jemma has to quickly continue before her teasing winds up backfiring and makes Fitz actually  _ believe  _ her.

“Perhaps you could take it off  _ for _ me?”

The reaction is instantaneous, Fitz’s eyes widening in surprise as he processes her words before darkening as he  _ processes her words _ . His gaze does another slow scan of her body, eyes spending a bit more time focused on a few  _ specific _ parts of her anatomy, and Jemma feels her heartbeat quicken at the sheer lust that is evident in his expression.

It amazes her that even well into their relationship, a decade of friendship and nearly a year of being decidedly  _ more than that, _ Fitz still manages to make her heart swell, as she does his.

_ Amongst other things if the bulge in his pants is anything to go by.  _

Jemma feels her cheeks heat at the thought and watches with rapt attention as Fitz takes a measured step forward, then another, and yet another, until his face is a few scant millimeters away from her own and his shaky breaths puff against her cheeks.

She cants her head upwards, closing her eyes and waiting for Fitz to press his lips against her own. When nothing happens, her eyes flutter open once more and are met with the sight of Fitz staring at her chest with an indiscernible expression. She glances in the vicinity of whatever his gaze is locked on and feels her emotions sink when she notes the small bruise where the ICER bullet had hit her chest.

She’s almost certain that the visual will once again put an early end to the evening and prepares herself for the likely possibility of Fitz stepping back and suggesting a postponement of the planned activities. Instead she feels a soft pressure where her bruise is as Fitz presses his lips to her chest. The contact is brief, lasting barely longer than a second, but it sends an electric current through her and causes her to let out a soft whine when Fitz pulls his lips away.

Jemma’s entirely certain that the chastity of the kiss is due to Fitz’s desire to remain overly gentle with her tonight and she’s  _ equally _ certain that she’ll be more wound up than she’s been in her entire life if he continues like this. She’s about to tell him that there’s really no need to be so cautious when his lips are suddenly on her again, working feverishly against her neck and likely drawing forth a bruise even larger than that on her chest.

Her hands fly to Fitz’s hair on instinct as she lets her head fall backwards and gives him as much access to her throat as is possible. His teeth and tongue work in unison against her pulse point and Jemma can only tighten her hold on him as her knees begin to weaken. His sandpaper scruff against her skin is a sensation that she’s yet to grow entirely accustomed to and she lets out a moan as his chin drags across her collarbone while his teeth nip at her throat.

It’s a physical onslaught and yet all Jemma can think about is the fact that she needs  _ more.  _

She begins pushing him towards the bed, all too happy to let him continue what he’s doing, tugging at his pajama pants until she feels them graze her feet as they fall to the floor. 

She doesn’t hesitate to palm him through his boxers, smirking at the audible gasp that Fitz releases when she makes contact. His head falls against her shoulder as her hand works him through the fabric and Jemma feels a heady rush of lust at the low groan that she can  _ feel  _ more than hear as it reverberates through his body. She gives an instinctual squeeze at the feeling and gasps as it seems to spurn Fitz into action. His lips are on hers in a second, nipping and tugging with an ardor that almost makes her buckle on the floor.

Jemma’s so distracted by Fitz’s mouth that she doesn’t realize he’s spun her around until she is falling backwards onto the bed, chest heaving as she pulls in air and entire body tingling as she watches him slowly move his fingers to the small knots adorning her.

He makes slow work of the lingerie, taking his time to carefully untie each bow and press a kiss to each newly exposed inch of skin and by the time her top falls open, Jemma’s entire body is taught, her rapid breathing outpaced only by her thumping heart. She watches in a lust-fueled fog as Fitz runs his hands gently along her torso, his fingers barely touching her yet leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

It’s when his palm stops against her heart that Jemma fully processes just how much she’s  _ missed  _ this.

Missed  _ him  _ more specifically, too swamped with work and every imaginable crisis to have had the pleasure of doing anything other than  _ sleep  _ in their bed.

He’s all but peeling the lingerie off of her now and the relief of no longer being constrained by the lace contraption is surpassed only by the feeling caused by the slow path that Fitz’s lips are following up her body.

She lets out a small laugh when he intentionally uses his tongue to press against a ticklish spot, gasps when his teeth nip against one of the many scars marring her torso, and moans when his lips finally close around her breast.

Jemma would be utterly content to live in this moment forever, Fitz’s warm weight atop her as he uses his mouth to love her, and she shuts her eyes at the wave of feeling that crashes against her with each flick of Fitz’s tongue and each pass of his roving fingers. 

_ Then _ said fingers hook around the waistband of her panties and Jemma is reminded that there’s no need to merely be  _ content  _ when there’s so much more to be had.

She pulls in a sharp breath as she lifts her bum from the mattress and watches as Fitz slowly rids her of the last piece of her holiday get-up, biting her lip to stop herself from moaning wantonly at the sight.

It’s an admirable effort on her part but in the next moment his fingers are rubbing at her and no amount of lip-biting can prevent the moan from breaking free. Her fingers wrap around his wrist as his own move against her and she pulls in one shaky breath after another as Fitz replaces his mouth to her chest and reverently mouths at her flesh. She weaves her free hand through his hair again, scratching against his head and all but holding on for life as he seems to focus on every part of her body at once.

It’s simultaneously too much and not enough and, after a combined rub of a finger and nip of the mouth causes her to let out a strangled shout, Jemma shifts both of her hands to Fitz’s boxers and frantically tugs at them until they’re no longer a barrier. When they’re far enough down his legs, she takes him in hand and grins at the way Fitz’s fingers twitch and his lips pause their work as his head collapses against her chest. 

She’s pleased to discover that his  _ own _ breathing seems just as uneven as hers, puffs of air hitting her with each twist of her wrist, and feels her competitiveness come forward as she strives to pull the same moans and groans from Fitz that he managed to eke from her.

He seems to catch on pretty quickly to what she’s doing because in the next instant his hand is once again rubbing deliberately against her and, as much as she’d enjoy racing to see who can cause the other to topple first, Jemma would far prefer toppling _together_. So she lets go of him, ignoring his soft whine of protest, and begins tugging at his shirt in a bid to rid him of the last article of clothing.

Luckily, despite his sometimes worrying obliviousness, Fitz truly  _ is  _ a genius and immediately sits up to yank the shirt off, throwing it behind him without a glance, and Jemma can’t help but laugh in delight at the cavalier attitude in which he is divesting his clothes after his careful removal of her own.

She eagerly pulls him down to her again, basking in the feeling that only ever occurs when she’s entirely surrounded by him, his arms bracketing her head and his chest pressed flat against her own. The utter safety and joy that permeates through her each and every time she and Fitz come together is a feeling that she’s certain not many can truthfully say they’ve experienced and she suddenly feels an urge to etch it into her brain.

It’s as though all of the terrors in the world that she  _ knows  _ exist fade away into oblivion and their bed becomes an impenetrable force field, a sanctuary that only they are privy to.

_ Home. _

Fitz is her home, has been since they were seventeen if she stops to think about it, and the fact hasn’t ever quite been so evident as it is tonight. Because tonight she’s home in every sense of the word, Fitz’s lips all but worshipping her neck in an apartment that she’s certain will evolve into a house in a few years time.

The realization evokes a desperation in her that causes Jemma to tug at Fitz’s hair, redirecting his lips to her own and kissing him with a softness that she hopes conveys the future that she expects to share with him.

She hopes that each press of the lips is a flash of a cottage in Perthshire, that each curl of the tongue is a vision of curly-haired and blue-eyed toddlers, and that each and every second makes it clear how utterly and madly happy she is.

Fitz must be able to sense her slight shift, the fervored heat of his kisses immediately transforming into a slow simmer that leaves her equally as breathless. His fingers move to weave through hers and Jemma squeezes them tightly, silently marveling at the perfect feeling of his palm pressed against hers.

The squeeze of her hand is evidently the cue he’s been waiting for because in the next moment, Fitz’s kisses are once again heated and desperate, and his body is better aligning with her own. She briefly feels him against her and feels her entire body begin to pulse with the need to feel _more._

He pauses at her entrance, eyes boring into hers in silent question, and all Jemma can do is nod vigorously in answer.

She gasps as he takes her cue and pushes in, fingernails raking over his back on their way to his bum, and makes no attempt to quiet the moan that escapes her at the connection. The slow push is a near complete contrast of the fast kisses they’re exchanging and Jemma feels entirely overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions and senses. 

He pauses once he’s as deep as he can go and the whine of protest that escapes her at the momentary pause is immediately silenced when Fitz reattaches his lips to her breast. The sensation is like no other and Jemma can only moan in approval at the feeling of fullness paired with the ardent stroke of his tongue against her chest. The tenderness behind his ministrations makes her breath catch and she shuts her eyes in a desperate bid to  _ feel  _ everything about this moment.

His mouth on her chest, his hips pressed as close to hers as is possible, and the heat of his hand against her ribs.

Were she to believe in them, Jemma would consider the physical and emotional fullness of this moment to be nothing short of a miracle.

_ “Fitz.” _

The breathy gasp of his name spurns him on and in the next moment he’s moving once more, slow and deliberate strokes alighting every nerve and quickly ratcheting up the arousal that always seems to be just hovering at the surface whenever Fitz is near.

She hooks her legs around him, canting her hips forward in time with each of his measured thrusts and pulls his head down for a messy kiss that lacks both of their usual finesse.

Not that  _ finesse  _ is really a priority right now.

She pulls back again, letting her head fall against the pillow, and groans when Fitz follows, pressing another sloppy kiss to her lips before attaching his mouth to her neck and sucking with abandon.

His hand moves to pull at her leg more firmly around him and the new angle causes him to hit the elusive spot within her that has her shouting in pleasure. Each snap of Fitz’s hips brings her that much closer and Jemma feels the pressure mounting within her as his thrusts become progressively faster and harder.

She knows that he won’t last much longer, can tell by the sudden franticness of his movements, and adjusts her legs until each slide of him seems to stroke every nerve within her. It’s the combined feeling of him within and against her that causes an instant flare of pleasure and Jemma lets out a steady moan when Fitz once again begins moving faster.

His hips are snapping against her, sweat making their skin slick and movements that much quicker, and Jemma uses her hands against his back to spurn him on until she lets out a strangled shout.

“Yes! Just… just there…  _ Fitz!” _

In the next moment she’s flying over the edge, throwing her head back and shutting her eyes at the onslaught of pleasure that is consuming her body. Her fingers dig into the flesh of his bum as Fitz presses on and stokes every bit of pleasure he can from her body. She gasps at the feeling, chanting his name like a mantra, and moans when Fitz’s movements become more erratic as he seeks for his own release. Though barely functional at this point, Jemma tightens her legs around him and kneads his arse with each thrust until he too is breaking apart with a groaned, “ _ Jemma.” _

He collapses against her and, were there any breath left in her, the weight of him would rob her of it. The room is silent save for their heavy breathing and Jemma lets her hands move up to rub gently across Fitz’s back, needing that extra bit of contact as she comes down from the physical high of being with him.

She smiles fondly at the borderline purr that Fitz releases at the steady rub of her hand against his skin. A few minutes pass before their breathing returns to normal and, when it does, Fitz pulls away and shifts to her side before burrowing his head in her neck with a pleased hum. He nuzzles against her and her fingers change trajectory, leaving his back in favor of carding through his hair.

They’re quiet for another period of time and Jemma’s just become convinced that Fitz has fallen asleep when he shifts again, propping his head up in his hand and staring at her so reverently that she feels a bit like a newly discovered masterpiece.

She grins at him in happiness, smile softening when he leans forward and places another lingering kiss against the small bruise above her heart, and feels as though her chest might burst from the lightness that has consumed her.

When he pulls back, Jemma doesn’t let him get far, leaning forward to catch his lips with her own. The kiss is identical to many that they’ve shared before, a predecessor for many they will share later on, and Jemma marvels at the fact that this feeling is one that she has the privilege of growing familiar with.

She breaks their kiss, pressing a soft one to his nose before letting her head fall back against the pillow. Fitz follows her, his head hitting the pillow a millisecond after hers, slinging his arm over her and scooting forward until he they’re pressed against one another, legs entwined and noses brushing.

Jemma hums in contentment, snuggling closer and fitting herself against him as she tugs their previously ignored duvet up and over them, whispering, “Love you,” against his chest.

She shuts her eyes with a small sigh, the dendrotoxin and lovemaking catching up with her and leaving her boneless and exhausted, smiling as she hears Fitz echo her words before her mind shuts off and she falls asleep.

 

-O-

 

When she wakes up the next morning, Jemma is admittedly a bit miffed to discover that Fitz is no longer slumbering beside her. In fact, as she stretches along their bed and feels the coolness of the sheets against her skin, he  _ apparently  _ hasn’t been beside her for quite awhile.

_ Whole damn time my arse. _

She lets out a small groan as she pushes herself into a sitting position, blinking blearily and cracking her neck before checking the time. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees that it’s going on 11:00 and she tries to remember the last time she’s slept past 8:00. She can hear the faint hum of music coming from the other room and the smell of what she  _ thinks  _ might be a full English breakfast.

Wrapping the bed sheet firmly around her, Jemma walks to the bedroom door, opening it slightly and grinning at the clear sound of Fitz bustling about the kitchen, humming with the Christmas classics that are playing from the speakers.

Though tempted to join him in nothing but what she was born with, the apartment is far chillier than she's used to and, despite being  _ very  _ interested in repeating their early-hour activities, bundling up in warm clothes seems the best course of action… at least while they eat breakfast.

Casting a glance around the room, Jemma’s eyes settle on the jumper Fitz had tossed in the vague vicinity of the hamper the day prior and she quickly pads her way across the floor to throw it on. She breathes in the familiar scent, the smell of solder and  _ Fitz  _ alone enough to warm her, and quickly snatches a pair of boxers from his dresser- too eager to nuzzle into the  _ actual _ Fitz to bother with any part of her usual morning routine.

Making her way into the hallway, Jemma pulls the jumper tighter across herself, shivering as her bare feet glide along the hardwood floors. She has no recollection of cold-front warnings and finds herself increasingly perplexed about the chill with each step she takes. The (seemingly) near-freezing temperature continues as she makes her way to the kitchen, a fact that makes her wonder if Daisy’s acquisition of this apartment had perhaps meant that some of the more  _ standard  _ things found in leasing contracts, such as  _ heating, _ might have been overlooked.

“Fitz?”

She calls out into the apartment, expecting an immediate response and is instead met with silence save for the Christmas tunes that are still playing softly over the wireless speakers (second only to Bridget on Fitz’s list of priorities when they’d begun moving in).

_ Odd. _

As she walks down the hallway, though she can see the pile of pots and pans stacked in the sink, Jemma notes that Fitz is no longer in the kitchen. She wonders where the fruits of his evident labor are, and smiles to herself at the realization that the bacon and eggs that she can smell clearly are likely waiting for her in their  _ breakfast nook _ .

The thought makes her quicken her pace with a renewed eagerness to find Fitz and begin enjoying their first Christmas  _ together  _ in their  _ home.  _ Though, as she regrets not pulling some socks on first, she wonders if it might be possible to start this first Christmas  _ at a reasonable temperature. _

“Fitz why is it so bloody freezi… oh!”

There are two possible scenarios of what Jemma expected to see when rounding the corner. The first involved a Christmas-bright Fitz putting the finishing touches on their breakfast spread and entirely oblivious to her presence until she makes some sort of clear indication. The  _ second  _ possibility is Fitz at peak-curmudgeon, perhaps laden down in winter-wear and grumbling in annoyance while trying to fix their  _ obviously  _ broken heater.

What she  _ actually  _ finds is a snowy landscape, pine trees shimmering with the frost of a winter storm, and Fitz standing in the middle of it all with a hesitant smile on his face.

She pulls in a sharp gasp at the visual, coming to an abrupt halt as her eyes begin to rove over what, just last night, had been a cozy- if somewhat bare- living room. She turns her head to take in the sight before her, marveling at the sheer  _ detail  _ of this landscape, and feels her mouth drop as she spins around and notes the complete transformation of their apartment.

“Wha…”

“I um… I thought I’d finish off where you left off before I ICED you last night. Hence the temperature… thought it might add to the whole  _ Winter Wonderland  _ theme a bit.”

His sheepish expression turns to one of contemplation as his brow furrows, “Though… now that I think about it, turning off the heat may have been a tad excessive. Not sure why I thought this was a good idea…”

“Fitz it’s  _ beautiful!” _

Her exclamation seems to shock him a bit, eyes widening at either the volume or vehemence behind her statement, but his face softens in an instant when he catches sight of hers.

Jemma can barely restrain herself from tackling him to the ground, instead settling on striding across the living room and enveloping him in a hug that even the Hulk might find crushing.

He laughs into her hair, using his hands against her back to pull her closer to him, and Jemma  _ wants  _ to make a joke about how  _ his  _ hands are now like ice buckets but instead pulls back in favor of the second option and tilts her head to press a soft kiss to his lips.

Despite the chill of the apartment _ ,  _ a flood of warmth courses through Jemma the moment her lips meet Fitz’s, and she happily thinks that she'd be willing to live in the frozen tundra so long as he were there too.

When she pulls away, there's a lightness in Fitz’s eyes that leaves her feeling weightless and Jemma finds herself immediately mirroring the broad smile that has spread across his face.

Tearing her eyes from his, Jemma makes another scan of the room before turning back to him in wonder. “How on earth did you manage all this?!”

As to be expected, the question causes a new spark in Fitz and he grabs her hand eagerly, tugging her to the far corner of the room. He gestures towards the very device that had led to last night’s fiasco and begins talking animatedly.

“It’s quite fascinating actually! I recalibrated some of the mechanics from the VR goggles and attached them to our PortoHolo so that the three-dimensional image would project  _ outward  _ instead of being centralized on a single device.”

He taps the nearly imperceptible headset attached to his temple as he speaks and the movement, coupled with his explanation, causes Jemma’s mouth to drop even further.

“This is  _ you?! You’re  _ doing this?! Fitz that’s amazing! _ ” _

She’s fairly certain that the rosiness to his cheeks could  _ partially  _ be attributed to the chill of the apartment, but is equally positive that  _ most  _ of the redness is due to his pleased embarrassment.

“Well… I  _ was _ doing this. Kept getting too distracted to maintain the image but I managed to incorporate a sort of pause button if you will. So you can freeze a visual thought to project and not have to worry about holding it for extended periods.”

His eyes are alight when he finishes and Jemma can only imagine how stupidly in love she must look in this moment. She frames his face in her hands, stepping on her tiptoes to press chaste kisses to every millimeter of Fitz’s face that she can, revelling in the chuckles that vibrate through his chest into her own. She pulls just enough away to nuzzle her nose against his and sighs in complete blissfulness at the feeling of his arms looped around her waist and his steady breaths intermingling with her own.

They're silent for a long moment, content to simply hold one another on Christmas morning, allowing Jemma the opportunity to internally marvel at yet another product of  _ them.  _ The device, one that had been a way to kill time in the lab in the days before neither had a second to spare, has transformed into a literal projection of them. Her eyes shift once more to the snowy landscape and she thinks that it might be the most beautiful things she's ever seen. This image, nearly identical to the one she had attempted to conjure the night before, is a visual reflection of Fitz’s mind… which has always been her favorite thing in the world.

Falling back to the flats of her feet, she loops her hands around Fitz’s neck, tugging him closer still, and smiles at the softness in his eyes.

“You're amazing Fitz. You're absolutely amazing and I love you.”

For a brief moment, she can see that he's about to argue, to downplay himself in favor of praising her, but then something in his eyes shift and he gives her a small smile instead.

“Yeah? Well right back at you.”

He leans forward and softly presses his lips to hers. “Amazing.” He kisses her again. “And I love you.”

She grins, both at the kisses and the sentiment, and laughs when their silence is broken by the loudest growl of a stomach that she’s ever heard. Fitz too chuckles at the noise, patting his stomach in amusement before nodding in the direction of the breakfast spread out across their corner table.

“What’s say we make use of that nook, eh?”

Jemma grins at the suggestion, nodding along in agreement and grinning as Fitz begins to walk her in the direction of the food she’s been smelling since she’d woken up. Suddenly he stops, snapping his fingers as though he’s forgotten something, and presses a quick kiss to her cheek before spinning around.

“Hang on, let me just turn the heat up or we’ll wind up turning into popsicles.” He yanks the earpiece off his head, shoving it in Jemma’s hand before moving towards the thermostat. The reminder of the frigidity of the apartment causes Jemma to instantly shiver and she nods vigorously as Fitz moves across the room. A slow smile spreading across her face as she prepares to tease him one last time.

“ _ Please. _ I rather think I've had enough  _ ice  _ for one Christmas.”

It takes a few beats but Jemma knows the exact moment Fitz understands, his head falling down and his loud groan echoing in the apartment. “Not sure I’ll ever get to live that one down. Daisy’ll make a few tweaks to the story and by the time our kids hear it for the first time it’ll probably involve me murdering Santa too.”

He says it so easily, as though it’s a complete given, and Jemma feels her heart begin to quicken at his words. “Our kids?”

Were she not shocked by the shift of conversation, Jemma would laugh at the comical way in which Fitz freezes at her soft question. Though he’s still facing away from her, she can picture the exact look of panic that is likely on his face. 

Sure enough, when he turns around, his eyes are wide and he looks as though he might bolt for the door. “Oh! I just meant… I didn’t mean… I know we haven’t talked about that. You… you probably haven’t even thought about it. Just… just ignore me.”

“Fitz."

He turns to her in question, cheeks still a bit red from his unnecessary embarrassment, and Jemma makes certain he’s watching when she puts on the headset for the PortoHolo. She flicks the switch that he’d indicated earlier and the winter scenery is immediately replaced by a flash of images. She meets his eyes for a moment before closing her own and thinking of the future that she’s been imagining for far longer than she’d ever truly realized. A sunny morning in Perthshire, grass green and sky blue, picnic blankets strewn across the lawn and two toddlers running delightedly ahead of their father, collapsing in a fit of giggles when Fitz catches up to them and pulls them with him to the ground.

Suddenly she herself appears, smiling fondly at her family, and is immediately pulled down by three sets of hands to join the cuddle pile. She’s bombarded with kisses from the children lying atop her and looks utterly blissful when she turns to Fitz, wedding rings glinting in the morning light as she takes his hand in her own and presses a firm kiss to his lips.

It’s a sight that leaves her a bit breathless and Jemma blindly flicks the pause switch on the headset before opening her eyes to see Fitz staring in open-mouthed wonder at the image that still surrounds them.

His eyes are flicking all across the room, taking in the small cottage and the expanded family, and Jemma lets him silently stare as she moves forward and laces her hand through his… much like the other version of her is doing before them.

“I’ve thought about it.”

Her confession, soft as it may be, rings clear in the apartment.

Fitzturns to her with a look of astonishment that slowly transforms into an expression so pure and delighted that Jemma can’t help but mirror it as she steps forward and squeezes his hand. She’s not sure anything else needs to be said considering she’s  _ finally  _ managed to show Fitz the future she imagines (not being stuck on the ocean floor during said  _ showing  _ is a greatly appreciated bonus) but the hopefulness on his face makes her  _ want  _ to.

So she rises onto her toes, nibbling at Fitz’s ear before whispering, “In fact… I think we should forget breakfast, forget about the thermostat, and find a  _ different  _ way of warming up. We’ll need some practice for when the time comes to make that a reality.”

When she lands back on her feet, Jemma only has to wait for 3.2 seconds before Fitz’s slacked jaw transforms into a broad grin and he tugs her by the hand back in the direction of their room.

And as she makes slow work of the buttons on her jumper as Fitz watches on, Jemma makes a mental note that seducing him is  _ far  _ more satisfactory when he knows exactly what’s coming.


End file.
